Whispers of Halloween
by Phx
Summary: It's Halloween and Joe has a problem. Will his family figure out how to help the little boy or will this be the year he won't go trick-or-treating? WeeHardys


Author's Name: Phoenix

_This story is dedicated to JD. If not for something she said after I wrote "Ouija Bord", I would never never written this._

**Whispers of Halloween**

**The Story:**

Six-year old Joe Hardy sat on the front step of his house and sighed. The small boy sat with his elbows perched on his knees, his chin in his hands and a solemn look on his normally cheerful young face as he stared, unblinkingly, at the orange, brown, red and yellow maple leaves scattered over the front lawn – in fact scattered over the whole neighborhood.

A chilly October breeze stirred the leaves playfully as the sound of a migrating flock of geese honked overhead in the cloudy autumn afternoon sky. But the youngster scarcely noticed them at all. He had something very serious on his mind – a problem; a worrying problem, which had gotten worse in the last two hours, until now it was gigantic and cruel, the likes of which the normally exuberant boy had no idea how to overcome!

His only hope was that his mother had some miracle cure in the cupboard, because the thought of eating a wriggly worm – his best friend Biff Hooper's most helpful suggestion – was very unappealing to the child. In fact, his stomach queased at the idea, and he was not one usually so faint of heart…so he blamed that on his malady as well.

Joe had laryngitis and it was Halloween.

He hadn't started out with laryngitis, in fact he had just woken up with a touch of a sore throat – not an uncommon ailment this time of year – and he hadn't thought too much about it, bundling off to school with his older brother Frank, as usual. Throughout the day, his throat got worse until by mid-afternoon, his voice was starting to crack and he sounded very funny. It was a great source of amusement to some of the other kids, particularly a couple of bullies who tormented the youngster in between classes until Frank found out and 'convinced' them that that was not such a healthy idea.

Most of the bullies' unkindness was easily brushed off except for the one comment that, once planted, festered and grew until now it was an outright – and well founded in the little boy's mind – fear.

So now the child watched and waited – and hoped. His mother and brother had gone to the airport to pick up Joe's father, private investigator Fenton Hardy, who was flying in after finally finishing up a long and intricate fraud case. Fenton had been in Portland, Oregon for the past month, and while Joe was anxious to see him, his mother told him he was better waiting at home. She was worried about the chest cold she heard developing – and his increasing stressed vocal cords – and felt it was better for him not to be out and around; particularly if he was going to be going trick or treating after supper.

Sighing again, the little boy wondered about that. Maybe he was just best staying home. After all, like the bullies had taunted – _who would give him candy when he couldn't even say 'trick or treat'?_ Particularly since, in the two hours his mother and brother had been gone, Joe's sore throat had morphed into full-blown laryngitis!

He couldn't say _anything_ – barely a whisper and even that was strained and hard-pressed at its very best! His faith in his mother's ability to fix anything was unwavering, though – so he waited, his hope hanging by a thin silken thread.

Upstairs in his bedroom was his costume. He was going as Robin this year – the Boy Wonder. Frank was going as Batman, of course. The fact that Joe knew Batman could work alone – and indeed did so, Robin-free, in many cartoons and comic books – did nothing to help alleviate his growing agitation about trick-or-treating. Frank's costume did NOT need a Robin. So he _could_ stay home and not be missed. That thought weighed heavily on the thin young shoulders.

"Joey," his aunt's voice from the doorway behind him, startled the child. He hadn't heard her open the front door. The smell of a baking pumpkin pie made him wrinkle up his nose. It smelled good but he really wasn't very hungry, "Come inside, child. It's too cold for you to be waiting outside like this."

The little boy shrugged his shoulders, knowing there was no way to make her understand. He had to be here as soon as his mother got home – he could not afford to waste even one moment!

He heard his aunt sigh – she had been the one who told him that he had _laryn…laryn_…well, whatever he had. He'd come to her about an hour ago, panic-stricken and unable to say anything!

She'd named his problem and made him a hot honey drink, which, while feeling nice on his sore throat, did nothing to help. So he'd moved outside to wait for his mother. Surely she could help; after all, she was a mom. Gertrude was only an aunt – a doting aunt but still just an aunt nevertheless – her kisses didn't have the same healing magic and neither would her cures. Of that, the six-year-old was sure!

A moment later, the child felt something warm draped around his shoulders.

"If you won't come inside," the older woman's voice said in unusual gentleness, "at least you won't be cold." Joe did have a sweater on but he appreciated the grey tweed blanket, only now realizing that he _was_ a little cold.

Turning, he mouthed the words 'thank you' and then returned his attention back to the street. His eyes strained for any sign of his mother's car – _where were they?_

* * *

Seven-year-old Frank Hardy stood patiently in the lineup for the checkout with his parents. After he and his mom had picked his father up at the airport, they had stopped at the mall to buy some more treats for the trick-or-treaters and some cough medicine for Joe. _Something to help soothe his throat,_ Laura had said, explaining to her husband that their younger son was coming down with a cold and sounded horrible!

The mall was milling with many other last minute Halloween shoppers so the lineup was long and slow moving. Frank shifted a bit impatiently from foot to foot, wanting to hurry up and get home so they could eat whatever his Aunt Gertrude had made for supper and then get on with the night's festivities – he had some serious trick-or-treating to do!

"He's not coughing…yet. But I can hear a rattle in his chest," Laura said, glancing up at her dark-haired, handsome young husband, "and the poor kid can hardly talk!"

"Ouch," Fenton commiserated, glancing absently at one of the magazines in the display case next to the checkout, "that's going to be hard on him tonight."

"Yes I'm sure by the time he gets home, he'll have no voice left," his mother agreed.

"But lots of candy!" Frank quipped in anticipation of a good night's haul!

"Yes," his father agreed with a laugh, "lots of candy!"

And then Frank saw them! Six little round, orange clay jack-o'-lanterns – about five or six inches high each. Each one had a different expression on its face – two were scary looking, two were laughing, one was frowning and the last one had its mouth open in an 'O' of surprise. It was love at first sight!

"Dad!" the boy tugged at his father's coat, "Look at these pumpkins! Aren't they just so cool?!"

Fenton Hardy put the magazine back and turned to see what had caught his son's attention. He looked at the little jack-o'-lanterns and smiled, tousling Frank's hair fondly. "They are pretty cute, son," he had to admit.

"Look Mom!" The boy touched his mother's arm to direct her attention to the little Halloween decorations. "See…you can put a small candle in each of them and put them in the window! They're just swell!"

Laura looked at the little clay faces and then down into that of her son's. Frank's dark brown eyes were aglow with barely concealed excitement, and she couldn't help but chuckle. More quiet than his younger brother, it was rare to see the older boy get so worked up…over a decoration! He was practically bouncing on the spot.

Raising her eyes over his head, the pretty blond woman glanced at her husband and he shrugged 'why not?'

"Well…" she started, and then laughed as Frank grabbed her hand and looked from her to his father and then back to her again. He knew exactly whose decision it was to be.

"Please, Mom!" the boy begged unabashedly, "They'd look so nice on our kitchen window sill – just look at them! Please!"

"Okay, okay," she smiled fondly at Frank, "how can I possibly say no to such reasoning?"

Beaming, the little boy spent a few long minutes scrutinizing each set to make sure none of the clay figurines had any chips or cracks. Finally, satisfied, he picked out the perfect pack and passed it to his mother.

"I'll be right back," Fenton said, quickly disappearing down an aisle. Laura and Frank had just gotten to the checkout when he returned, and one look explained his absence. He had picked up a dozen little white tea candles for the jack-o'-lanterns. Putting them on the counter with the other purchases, the sleuth winked at his son. "Now I think we have everything!"

"Yes we do!" Frank grinned, hardly able to wait to see the look on Joe's face when he saw what they bought. His brother was going to _love_ them!

* * *

Gertrude Hardy sighed as she stood in the open doorway and stared out at the desolate little form of her younger nephew. She shook her head, not understanding why the child wouldn't come back in the house, or why he was set on seeing his mother with such urgency!

'_But then again_,' she thought to herself, '_I guess its not for me to understand the workings of a little boy's mind_.' Shaking her head, she quietly closed the door and went back in the kitchen to check on supper.

Glancing up at the clock, she hoped the rest of her family would soon be home. The food was almost ready.

* * *

After what felt like an eternity, Joe finally saw it! Standing up, the little boy trembled with excitement – it was his mother's car!

Letting the blanket slip off his shoulders and onto the step, he gave a relieved sigh and hurried down the front steps and towards the vehicle as it pulled into the driveway. He was careful to stay out of the way of the car, and smiled as he saw his father behind the wheel. He had missed him terribly and for a few moments the sight of the man made him forget all about his problem!

But then as Fenton got out of the car and the little boy threw himself at him for a vigorous hug, he tried to call out '_Daddy!_' and remembered.

* * *

Fenton was shocked when the blond ball of energy that had propelled itself towards him, suddenly burst into tears as he swept him up into his arms.

"Joey? Son? What's wrong?" the detective asked, instantly concerned. He glanced towards his wife but she had no better idea than he. And while Joe was definitely the more outwardly emotional of the boys – the family crier – he seldom did so without cause, even if the cause might just be sheer frustration for the expressive child.

Instead of answering, Joe wriggled out of his embrace, in desperate haste to see his mother.

Laura's face clouded with confusion but then melted in gentle understanding. "Oh baby," she dropped down eye level to her younger son, "Your voice isn't working anymore, is it?"

Adamantly Joe nodded his head as he wiped away the tears and sniffled; the relief was evident on his face – his mother understood!

"He's developed a nasty case of laryngitis," Gertrude Hardy explained from the doorway as she looked out at her family. "Poor dear can't hardly whisper. I gave him hot honey but it doesn't seem to help." The older woman looked at her brother through wire-rimmed glasses and steel-blue eyes. "He takes after you Fenton – you were forever with sore throats and laryngitis."

"Well, let's get everyone inside," Laura said as she placed a comforting hand on Joe's shoulder, "standing outside in the cold isn't going to help!" She glanced at her husband, who nodded.

"Boys, go inside with your mother. I'll bring in the stuff from the car," he said, already moving towards the trunk, his face furrowed in a frown as he thought about his younger son. Laryngitis on Halloween – how cruel was that? Sighing, he had to shake his head though. Gertrude was right. Until Fenton was fourteen and had his tonsils removed, he was forever plagued with sore throats and frequent bouts of laryngitis. So he knew exactly how Joe felt. Unfortunately, knowing how the child felt did nothing to alleviate the condition! Only time would do that.

* * *

Frank felt terrible for his younger brother as he followed his mother and Joe into the kitchen. The whole house smelled like pumpkin pie and – he inhaled deeply, grinning – and fried chicken! Yummy! But then he saw his brother's anxious face and his grin disappeared.

Joe couldn't talk. This was a big problem!

Normally the seven-year-old would have taken the opportunity to tease the younger boy, who was the family chatterbox, barely stopping to breathe at times! But not now – not when this was serious! Without his voice, how was Joe going to say 'trick or treat'?? Frank was sure that people would still give his brother treats without him asking, but still…this was Halloween and you _had_ to say it, if not – well if not, then it just wouldn't be the same!!

Reaching out, he gently patted his brother on the back. "I'm sure Mom can fix you right up!" he offered supportively, his own faith in his mother's abilities as unwavering as his brother's.

Joe offered him a quick smile and nodded, his young face earnest and hopeful – he was obviously thinking the same thing.

Laura, hearing the comment, turned away from the stove where she had just put the kettle on and sighed sadly. "I'm sorry, honey," she said, reaching out to push a lock of golden hair from the pale face, "I don't have any magic for this except time. I can make you something nice and warm to drink – it'll make your throat feel a bit better."

The child stared at her in disbelief – _his mom couldn't fix this?_ _It had to take time?_ His bottom lip started to tremble as fresh tears wobbled in his wide blue eyes. Slowly he shook his head – _No! This couldn't be true! It couldn't!_

Before Laura could say anything else, Joe turned and ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into his room. Not even bothering to slam the door, the upset little boy threw himself down on his bed and cried in silent anguish. This wasn't fair!

"Is everything okay?" Fenton asked a few moments later as he came into the kitchen, put the packages down on the counter and noted one noticeable absence other than Gertrude, who was in the bathroom, "Where's Joey?"

"Upstairs," Laura said, her pretty face sad, "he just found out his mother is human."

"What?" The detective was confused for a moment but Frank clarified everything in a few softly spoken words.

"Mom can't fix him." The boy looked at the box of pumpkins he had been so excited about, put them down on the counter and then quietly left the kitchen. '_Gone to search out his brother'_, his parents' thoughts mirrored one another's, '_no doubt.'_

* * *

After Frank left the kitchen, Laura sighed, reached for the plates to start setting the table for supper and glanced at her husband. "So did _your_ mom have any wonderful cures?"

"For what?" Fenton asked as he quickly took the few items they had bought out of the plastic bags, and then picked up the cough medicine and looked at the label to see how much they should give Joe.

"For laryngitis," Laura said, pausing and watching him. She smiled softly and then gave a small laugh as she saw him grimace exaggeratedly and then pantomime tasting something terrible.

"Depends….Do you think cayenne pepper water or something she called 'Onion syrup' would ever be considered 'wonderful' by _anyone?_" His dark brown eyes twinkled briefly and then he became more serious. "She _had_ things she used to make me drink, yes. Did they work? No. Not really. And definitely not in time for tonight – as if I would ever consider letting anyone feed any of those concoctions to _my_ son anyway," he added as he moved to stand behind her and gave her tight hug; wrapping his arms around her slender waist and kissing the top of her head. "Only time, babe, is going to help Joey. Time and sympathy."

"Well I'm sure he'll get more than his share of sympathy," she mused, sighing and leaning back against Fenton's strong chest for a moment before she moved, reluctantly, to finish setting the table.

As Gertrude came into the kitchen, Fenton reached into the drawer and pulled out a small green, alligator-shaped plastic spoon and picked up the medicine bottle.

"This should help with the soreness a bit anyway," he said, moving towards the door, "it claims to _'soothe sore throats'_." Without further ado, the detective headed upstairs to see his sons.

* * *

Frank Hardy frowned as he stood in the doorway of his brother's room and saw the upset boy lying face down on his bed. He knew, without hearing, that Joe was crying, and he bit his lip as he tried to think of what he could to make the younger boy feel better.

He had been as shocked as Joe was that their mother didn't have a magic cure, however – being one year older and wise beyond his tender age – he hadn't been as crushed as his brother had, to find out otherwise.

After a moment, he moved towards the bed and sat down next to Joe. Placing a comforting hand on his brother's back, he said quietly, "I can say it for you."

Joe sniffed and rose his head, looking at his big brother through red-rimmed swollen eyes. He opened his mouth to say something but then sighed and just shook his head.

"I _know_ it won't be the same," Frank admitted, reading his brother's unspoken objection, "but I can still do it and then it'll be said."

The younger boy sighed and laid his head back down on the pillow but turned it so he was looking at his brother. He looked so miserable – _'no kid should be sad on Halloween'_, Frank thought. But other than offering to say 'trick or treat' for Joe, Frank really had no idea what else to do to help him, and he didn't like feeling that way. He was Joe's big brother and that was not something the dark haired child took lightly!

He supposed they could make a sign of some sort but then dismissed the idea knowing his brother wouldn't go along with that either. You don't read 'trick or treat', you say it!

"Well, maybe you'll be feeling a bit better after supper," Frank offered after a few moments, but Joe didn't look very convinced. Instead he just sighed and closed his eyes; a single wet tear streaked down his cheek.

On impulse, the older boy reached out to brush it away. "It's okay Joey," he said, hearing his own voice tremble – he hated seeing his brother cry! It always made him feel so bad.

But Joe just shook his head again and then tried to say something. There was barely any sound but Frank heard what he was saying loud and clear. And he was horrified!

"No, Joey!" he cried out, "You can't stay home on Halloween!"

* * *

Outside the bedroom door, Fenton stood still, shocked, as Frank's outburst reached his ears. _Joe wasn't going to go trick-or-treating?_

'_Oh no_,' the sleuth thought, '_something has to be done about this!_' His son – both of them actually – had been counting down to this day for months now. And the thought of Joe not going now was absolutely heart-wrenching!

'_No_,' the man vowed as he moved away from the door, his medicine mission delayed for the moment, '_There has to be something we can do…_' And then a slight smile curled his mouth as the bare beginnings of a plan took shape in his mind. It might just work…

Hurrying downstairs, Fenton headed towards the kitchen. He needed to talk to his wife and sister. This could work, but he was going to need their help!

* * *

"You can't _not_ go!" Frank cried out, alarmed by the idea of Joe staying home on Halloween. His brother lived and breathed for this day. "You have to go! You just have to!"

But the younger boy just looked at him, his vibrant blue eyes miserable and sad. He opened his mouth and then just shook his head.

"Well I can't go without you," the seven-year-old announced, "we're a team! Batman and Robin, remember?"

At that Joe shook his head even more adamantly.

"What'ja mean, no?" Frank demanded as he lightly rubbed his brother's back, "We are so partners!" This time Joe just rolled his eyes and then moved away from Frank, scooted to the end of the bed and got up. He went to his closet, opened the door and pulled out a comic book. Passing it to his brother, the little boy then sat down on the bed next to him and pointed at the picture.

Frank frowned. "Oh," he said in understanding. It was one of Joe's _Batman_ comics…one _without_ Robin. A scowl replaced the frown as the dark-haired boy tossed the comic onto Joe's desk. "I ain't that Batman," he announced, "_he_ might not need a Robin – but I do!" Standing up, he turned to face his younger brother, folded his arms across in his chest in his best 'Joe' defiant stance and said resolutely, "Well if you don't go, then I'm not going either!"

Joe blinked in shock! _Frank wouldn't go trick-or-treating if he didn't?_ His eyes stung and he blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry again. He hated crying and had done way too much today as far as he was concerned!

But as Frank lowered his tone and spoke earnestly, Joe found his resolve slipping.

"Batman and Robin are a team – _just like us!_ Sure, Batman can do stuff by himself but – but it isn't the same. You know that." He paused, his dark eyes as serious as Joe had ever seen them. "I want my Robin, Joey…don't make me go out alone!"

"_Frank_," Joe managed in his barely audible whisper, his blue eyes eloquent and beseeching. Frank immediately reached out to him, drawing his brother into a quick, reassuring hug.

"We're going out there tonight Joey – together. I don't know what we'll do yet, but I'll figure something out," he vowed to the younger boy, "Just trust me, okay?"

Slowly Joe nodded, his faith in his older brother unwavering. If Frank said he'd think of something – he would. Feeling much better than he had all afternoon, the boy actually smiled when their mother's voice called up that it was suppertime!

Supper turned out to be a rather quiet affair. No one said very much and Aunt Gertrude excused herself early and then they heard her sewing machine a few moments later.

At first Frank was puzzled about the silence, but then he glanced across at his brother as Joe pushed the food around his plate without really eating any of it, and the perceptive child realized the silence was directly related to the blond boy's 'condition'.

Joe's almost non-stop banter tended to keep mealtime conversation animated and flowing, as he was either telling something or asking something. But he couldn't do that very well now. In fact he couldn't do it at all!

Laura had given Joe a spoonful of some cherry flavored medicine just as he sat down, and Frank was hoping against hope that it would help, because he was really drawing a blank about what else to do…and the idea of letting his brother down was not acceptable to him at all! He had considered trying to convince Joe to go as a Mime, but quickly dismissed that idea. The brothers had seen Mimes the last time their parents had taken them to Central Park in New York City, but the quiet man dressed in black with a painted white face had scared Joe. _No,_ Frank had quickly decided, _that would NOT work_. Bottom line – Joe hated Mimes.

"Frank, did you tell your brother about your pumpkins?" Laura asked, her question interrupting the boy's musing as his father stood up, excused himself from the table and then left the kitchen.

The dark-haired boy stared at her for a moment before remembering.

"Actually no!" he admitted, a bit sheepishly, "I totally forgot about them!"

His mother chuckled softly as Joe gave up pretending to eat and watched him with unabashed curiosity.

"You got to see these guys Joey, they are so cool!" Immediately the seven-year-old moved from his chair and brought the box of clay jack-o'-lanterns to the table so his brother could see them.

Joe stared at the little figurines and then up into his older brother's beaming face. 'Cool' was definitely a word the younger boy would not have used to describe them. Downright creepy was more like it!

The little clay faces twisted in expression sent icy fingers thrilling down his spine. He didn't have the words and could only stare at Frank in disbelief – _had his brother lost his mind?_

"Mom! Can we put the candles in them now?" Frank asked, oblivious to Joe's reaction as he picked up his empty plate and moved it to the sink. Joe's mouth actually opened in alarm – _these things lit up?_

Laura glanced up at the time, and then nodded her head.

Joe just shook his head as Frank hovered expectantly while their mother put a small white tea light in each pumpkin and then lit it.

Quietly, the little boy moved his plate into the sink with the other dishes and then went back upstairs. He did not want to spend one moment longer around those things!

Frank saw his brother leave and sighed. Glancing up at his mother he bit his lip and then confided, "Joey doesn't want to go trick-or-treating 'cause he can't say 'trick or treat' or even 'thank you'." He didn't feel like he was breaking his brother's confidence, since the time to get ready was nigh and Joe didn't have the voice to tell his parents his decision. He paused and then added softly, "And I don't want to go if he isn't."

If his mother was at all surprised, she never showed it. Instead she turned around, gave Frank a brief hug, and lightly kissed the top of his head. "You're a good big brother, sweetie." Laura smiled reassuringly at him. "But it'll be okay, honey," she promised, "Go on upstairs and get your costume on now. Your dad should be ready in a few minutes."

"Dad?" Frank was confused; he had thought their mother was taking them out as she had done every year since he could remember.

"Yes Dad, now scoot, kiddo," Laura gave him a playful swat on the bottom, "or else you'll be late."

"But Joe—"

"Will be fine," his mother finished for him, her smile gentle and affectionate. "Go get ready, Frank."

The boy stared at her a moment longer and then hurried upstairs. If his mother said it was going to be okay, then it would be. He just knew it.

* * *

Joey was lying face down on his bed again. He could hear Frank moving around in his room and was sure that the older boy was getting ready to go. The six-year-old couldn't really blame Frank though, although he did feel a bit hurt by it. '_He said he wouldn't go without me,_' he thought dejectedly, his eyes roving over his Robin costume once again, the longing to get ready and go out so strong. But he couldn't, his fixated young mind was unyielding and miserable.

Closing his eyes, he tried to wish it all away…

* * *

Fenton Hardy stood outside his younger son's room and raised his hand to knock. He hoped this would work.

* * *

Joe heard the soft knock and sighed. It was probably his parents coming to try and talk him out of his decision. Frank would have told them by now.

The knock was a little louder the second time and followed by his father's voice. "Joey? Son? Can I come in?"

Slowly, the youngster dragged his body off the bed and went to open the door, mentally grumbling that his father must have forgotten he couldn't call out!

Opening the door, the little boy stared at the man standing before him in shock, his blue eyes wide and his mouth hanging open!

"Son, it's not nice to stare," the detective chided mildly and then his face softened as he saw comprehension slowly fill the Joe's face… The door at the end of the hall opened and a Batman-clad Frank stepped out of his room and stood gaping at his father.

"_Daddy?"_ the strained whisper word tore at Fenton's heart as he reached down to scoop the little boy up.

"Yes Joey, I did this for you. Now if you want to get dressed as quickly as you can – I think we have some work to do. The time to trick-or-treat is at hand!"

Joey hugged his father as hard as he could, his eyes filling again as the depth of his father's love surrounded him. For instead of Fenton Hardy, ace detective standing in the hall, it was Fenton Hardy, ventriloquist's dummy…

"_It's okay son_," his father's voice whispered into his ear, "_Let me be your voice tonight…"_

Even if he could say something, Joe didn't have the words. Instead he just squeezed his father even more tightly, a huge smile lighting his face as Fenton let him down.

"Come on Joey!" Frank said as he grabbed his brother's hand, "you'll need to wear your good suit!" He glanced up at his father, amazed at the makeup job his mother – or he figured his mother anyway – had done on the man. His father's face looked convincingly like a dummy…_and where exactly did he get the big goofy mock suit jacket and polka-dot bow tie??_ But then he remembered the sound of his aunt's sewing machine after she hurried from supper, and his mother's words…._They knew_. Somehow his family knew!

That thought filled him with warmth as he pulled his brother towards his own room instead of Joe's. "It's Halloween," he explained very seriously, "you're supposed to dress up!" When Joe looked at him in confusion, he grinned, "You can wear my good suit, squirt!" The look that Joe bathed him was one Frank would never forget.

Ten minutes later the three Hardy 'men' prepared to leave the house. After wishing his mother and aunt good-bye, Joe ducked away from his father and brother and hurried into the kitchen. He had one last thing to do.

Leaning over the mocking little clay faces, the six-year-old quickly blew Frank's jack-o'-lanterns out….

In the morning he would be laid up with a nasty chest cold, but for tonight, his brother was Batman and his father…his father was his voice…

'_Trick or treat!'_

The End


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